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POEMS 



B Y 

IBVIN AUSMUS 




Copyright Applied For 



1909: 

McMein Printing Company 
quincy, illinois 



This little book of Poems is printed by friends 
of the Author, and by them is reverently 
dedicated to those who knetv and loved him. 



CCI.A25BHi;4 



THE CAPTIVE 



THE CAPTIVE 

I want to whistle and I want to sing, 

But I cannot, oh, I cannot; 
For disease and pain have left their sting • 

Through my being, all my being, 

I want to whistle and I want to sing, 

But I cannot, no, I cannot. 
I would sound the praise of my Heavenly King 

For His goodness, all His goodness. 

He has set the world to a thousaaid tunes. 
For my pleasure, daily pleasure; 

All the golden autumns and the crimson Junes 
He hath painted, deftly painted. 

The valley of green and the far gray hill 

That forever, aye, forever. 
Are granted to me by His gracious will 

For my kingdom.-boundless kingdom. 

My soul mounts up like a bird on the wing. 

But this body, stricken body. 
Drags it back to earth like a captive thing 

To its travail, sordid travail. 

The/lips of mourning shall ere long rejoice; 

This affliction, dire affliction. 
It can stay this hand and can still this voice 

For a season, but a season. 

And the bird thq,t beats at the bars all day 
With its pinions, feeble pinions. 

Will at last be released and fly away 
To its freedom, endless freedom. 

Though a captive now in these walls of clay. 

My immortal soul,' immortal, 
Thou wilt find a song in that endless day — 

'Tis His promise, faithful promise. 



THE BRIDGE OF YEARS 

THE BEIDGE^OF YEAES. 

Oh a wonderful bridge is the hridge of years. 

Aud a -long, long way across; 
And forever around its silent piers 

The waves of the river -toss. 

And the river is wide and long and deep, 

And rapidly on it flows, 
By the farthest shores with majestic sweep, 

To an ocean that no man knows. 

And my little hoy sometimes, and I — 

Ah y.es, most every day, 
Watch the restless waves go hurrying by. 

As we come to the bridge to play. 

For my little boy, you see, and I, 

However so strange it seem. 
Live, at opposite ends of the bridge so high 
, That is over the wide, deep stream. 

But often and often he comes, you know, 

Comes over that bridge to me. 
To play in the land that he covets so — 

His land of "what is to be." 

And ever as often my eage^' feet 

Have crossed o'er the bridge, I trow. 
And have found the realm of his boyhood sweet — 

Which for me is "•'the long ago." * 

'And all of his hopes of a bright sometime 

And what- he has phmned to be. 
And all of the dreams of a sunlit clime 

Thiit memory paints for me. g 

Meet over the river of life at last, 
A cordon of smiles and tears; 
Here touching the future as there the past — 
And this is the bridge of years. 



THE WANDERER 



THE WANDERER 

Let me see again, the glory 

Of the old familiar hills; " 
Let me hear as then the story 

Tokl by tongues of laughing rills. 
I should like to view the setting 

Of the autumn sun onec more, 
Hear the wild and ceaseless fretting 

Of the ocean on its shore. 

I should like to read the landscape 

Of the homeland far away. 
Tracing all the spots sequestered 

That I knew in boyhood's day. 
T^et me turn a few leaves backward — 

Years-that made, the boy a man — 
And peruse the thiumbworn pages 

Where the early life began. 

TiCt me rest upon the hilltop 

On the borderland of home. 
Rest and gaze into the valley 

Where again I may not roam. 
Then slutll all the worlcVs commotion 

SudcU'nly grow calm and still; 
And the heart forget achieving— 

For#the heart has had its fill. 

Long, ambition lured me onward, 

And I gloried in the race. 
Victory was mine, and often 

Fortune showed a smiling face. 
Xow I cast it all behind me. 

As a wandVer honiQjyard turns: 
Let me but behold in dying, 

Scenes for which the tired heart yearns. 



TO A DISTRUSTFUL MAIDEN 



TO A DISTRUSTFUL MAIDEN 

When the sunbeams in their gladness 

Dance before you. 
Let a feeling of deep sadness 

Settle o'er you. 
When the moonlight pale and tender, 

On the meadows 
Lies in all its radiant splendor, 

Look for shadows. 

If the waters of the river 

Brightly glisten. 
If they sing and sing forever, 

Do not listen. 
If the lark at morning soaring. 

Skyward flying. 
Seem his soul in song outpouring. 

He is lying. 

Spurn the voices that in kindness ' 

Daily greet you; 
Let them through your seeming blindness 

Not entreat you. 
And if any seem to love you, 

And to cherish. 
Distant as the stars above you. 

Let them perish. 

For the world in largest measure 

Is deceiving. 
Do not rob yourself of pleasure 

By believing 
That all things are half so real 

As their seeming. 
Is not every pure ideal 

Idle dreaming? 

Hearts of men are full of seeming; 

Use discretion. 
You will find them ever scheming — 

Their profession. 



TO A DISTRUSTFUL MAIDEN-Cont. 

For effect they talk away till 

They deceive you. 
If you answer truly,- they will 

ISTot believe you. 

Let no main who comes to woo you 

Gain your favor, 
Well-known though he may be to you: 

• Let your saVor 
Be of death unto the dying; 

Yo.ur conception 
Meoiting squarely, and defying 

His deception. 

Ah, that pretty little ditty , 

"I adore you^' 
. Other girls have heard in pity 

Long before you. 
Tales of love he seeks how suavely 

To unfold them. 
To a dozen girls how gravely 

He has told them. 

If he swear that with you ever. 

There his part is; 
And that death alone can sevpr — 

. That his heart is 
Yours although you soorn to claim it 

Call it treason. 
For all love is (as you n^e it) 

Want of reason. ^ 

If in truth one dares to love vou, 

And reveal it, 
Striving from the stars above you 

'^To conceal it,'" 
But has not the knowledge how to — 

For his boldness 
Let him suiffer as I now do 

From your coldness. 



NEVER 



I have all the day been thinking 

(What a fool) 
Of a little fair-haired maiden, 

Went to school 

With me back in old Poloma, 

Years ago. 
Ah, the memories of those days ^ 

Linger so. 

On my brow the furrows deepen 

Day by day; 
And the hair, once dark, is wholly 

Turned to gray. 

But when I remember her as 

She was then, 
Spite^of snowy hairs, I'm but a 

Boy again. 

And the love my boy heart cherished 

Leaps anew 
As I gaze again into her 

Eyes of blue. 

Then I wonder, as I ponder 

All alone,: 
If 'twould be the same if she had 

Only known. 

Ere my love had found expression, 

. She was wed ; 
And my heart must keep the words it 
Would have said. 

Keep them as against a far off. 

Unknown day — 
Morning's glory thus is changed to 

Evening's gray. 



NEVER— Cont. 



Life is but a fitful river, 

And its tide 
Seaward bears tbc drift thnt chances 

Side by side. 

Stay, my pen>for it is doubtless 

Better so : 
Still, my lips; for she will never. 

Never know. 



WHEN WE SHALL SAY GOOD-BY 

AVhen we shall say good-by, sweetheart. 

How much for us will die. 
Of all the best that earth has held, 

When we shall good-by. 

How much of blue' that was before 

Within the summer sky, 
Will turn that day to clouds of gray. 

When we shall say good-by. 

When we shall say good-by, sweetheart, 
It may not be with tears: 
^ For eyes will lose their power to weep 
When hearts have wept for years. 

When I shall look into .your face, 

And you into my own, ,v, 

And know it is- the enet of all lip 

The bliss that we have known: 

When we shall think on days that were. 

And days that are to be. 
What will it mean to you, sweetheart. 

What will it mean to me? 

What will it mean — but oh, sweetheart, 

The silence makes reply; 
For words will little meaning have 

When we shall say good-by. 



SEVEN YEARS AGO 



SEVEN YEAES AGO 

I'm back in the old college, John, 

Fm mingling once more . 
With students on the college green, 

As we have done of yore. 
The faces now are new, John, 

The scene has changed, you know. 
Since we 'were boys in college here 

Some seven years ago. 
I 
The y^rd is not so green, John, 

Abundance of fresh clay 
Is spread upon the eastern slope. 

And little boys at play 
Get this upon their feet, and then 

It gets upon the floor. 
They're only kindergarten tots. 

Who were not here of yore. 

The President is not here now — 

I mean the one you knew; 
He's gone to dwell in warmer lands — 

We've often wished him to. 
But pardon me, he is not dead ; 

He simply chose to go 
And live where greater harvests wave, 

Where softer zephyrs blow. 

The faculty — one, two, three, four — 

Yes, they are all gone too; 
And in their stead — oh, well, I think 

The present force will do. 
I haven't time to specialize, 

But if you wish to know. 
Come back and see how they compare 

Wit^ seven years ago. 

The building, too, is altered much. 

If you could see it now 
With all its nice conveniences, 

I'm sure you'd ponder how 
We e'er endured the smoky stoves; 

The rooms so dark and low. 
That hedged us in like prison walls 

Some seven years ago. 



SEVEN YEARS AGO-Cont. 11 

ISTew chairs are in the chapel now, 

The old board seats are gone 
That you and I, in other days, 

Carved our initials on. 
Bttt the same old bricks are in the wall, 

The bell swings to and fro; 
Its music even sweeter now 

Than seven years ago. 

The "Art Eoom," John — ah, do not smile — 

Is a laboratory now; 
And will you think me still a child ' 

If I shall tell you how 
Whene'er I enter that old room 

My eyes grow dim with tears. 
To think how greatly things have changed 

Within those seyen years? 

In that old room, upon the wall 

I once did write my name ; 
My sweetheart's just beneath it, John, 

And you did yours the same. 
But now new paper hides the names; 

And it is better so. 
We must forget those girls we loved 

Some seven years ago. 

We must Sporget, and yet today 

My heart goes back again; 
Some memories but dearer sftem 

When they are fraught with pain. 
Those friends have all been borne away 

By Time's resistless flow — 
Save one, is here who walked with us 

Just seven years ago. 

Some have gone to distant lands; 

,One sleeps within the tomb; 
But you and I, Joiin, have met 

A far more dreadful doom. 
For those dear girls whose names we wrote, 

And whom we cherished so. 
Are pledged to wed some other men 

Since seven years ago. 



{•2 



SOMETIME 



SOMETIME. 

Sometime, when the years have departed, 

And the mists of the past gather gray 
O'er the scenes of your youthful enjoyment 

Like the dusk of a drear autumn day, 
There may come a' slight feeling of sadness 

And a sigh for the days that are flown. 
But whose fragrance still clings like the odor 

To the vase when the roses are gone. ' 

Sometime, when that feeling impels you 

To turn from the cares of thd day, 
You will seek a spot of seclusion 

Away from the noise and the play, 
To open a box of old letters ^ 

Whose faded addresses betray 
Tl^e years that have come and departed, 

Since they were at first laid away. 

They'll recall to you visions of school days 

As the pages dim-lettered you scan'. 
And the ndmes that were almost forgotten, 

Will brighten in memory again. 
And the voices of times that are .vanished, 

You will heai in their sweetness once more. 
While faces of memory's keeping 

Will crowd to the half-open door. . 

If in turning those time-tinged envelopes, 

And turning them over again. 
You should chance on some Weak boyish verses 

That were written by this feeble pen, 
Permit not the bold eyes of strangera 

To revst as a critic's would do. 
On the words §,0 imperfect and puerile. 

That were written for no one but 3^ou. 

But foJ'd them again <vith a sadness, * 

And tie with an evelvn thread; 
And forget the one, ^\qi though yet living, 

Is to you as one of the dead. 
And forget that the verses were childish, 

And the thoughts were but poorly expressed 
Tliov were only the jets from the fountain 

'T a love that would riot be suppressed. 



DOES ABSENCE MAKE HEARTS FONDER GROW? V.^ 

-DPES ABSENCE MAKE HEARTS 
^ FONDER GROW?" 

> 
Does absence make^ hearts fonder grow, 
« Or distance more enchanfthe view? 
''Though lost to sight, to memory -dear?" 
I fear it is not so with 3'oii. 

Do curling leaves in noonday heat 

fiemember then the morning's dew? 
Do stars l)rought nearer seem less bright 
y^ Or fartber skies appear more blue? 

When plucked away, the rose forgets 

The ragged tborn l)v whieb it grew : 
And think vou birdlet e'er returned 

Tnto tl\e nest from which it flew ? 

'I'he .bark that sails so graceful Iv 

With canvas filled, and rudder true. 
Will never to the port return. 

If boarded bv a pirate crew . 

When- miles and years and doubts conibine 

To hide the port we're striving to. 
The hearts that M'eatherout the storm. 

Are fond indeed, and very few. 

^ "Hope lohg defended, the lieart makes sick" 

Said one of old — ])erhaps he knew. 
My heart was faint, and sad indeed. 

But hoped on ho])e a word from you. 

Andjhen again, it has been said: 

"Though worlds may change from old to new. 
'And back from new to old again; 

Within man's heart hope still is true.'' 

A paradox! so ever runs 

7'be thread of contradiction through 
The cloth of time upon God's loom ; 

And Ave arc helping weave it, too. 

A riddle book is life, m which , 

I only learn this fact or two : 
Thougb hope should fail,, or hearts forget, 

What fate has willed, I can but do. 



14 ' ' REMEMBERING 

REMEMBEKING 
\ 

Don't forget me will you Sailing, 

When you get beyond my sight? 
Don't forget me when new friendships 

Fill your hours with delight. 
I may never be more to you — 

I may never be your wife; 
But it grieves me dear, to lose you. 

As it would to lose my life. 
Only this I say at parting — 

I have said it oft before — 
I do love you, and you'll never ' 

Find an one to love you more." 
"I will not forget you dearest" 

Were the words of my adieu; 
And I little dreamed how sadly 

Future years would prove them true. 

"Don't forget me," oh how lightly 

We can answer with a "no." 
But life has so many changes 

As the seasons come and go. 
Hearts that beat so warm in springtime 

When our youth was all aflame, 
Will they beat on so forever? 

Will they always lovevthe same ? 
Ask the wistful maid that lingers 

Where the evening shadows creep, 
Trusting still the fragile promise 

That her lover said he'd keep. 
Ask her if the rose will wither; 

Ask her if the sun will set; 
Ask her if all hope can perish, 

Or if hearts can so forget. 

Years ago it was I parted 

From sweet Anna when she. said • 
"Don't forget me will you darling?" 

"No" I said, and shook my head. 
I was wedded in a year-tkne 

To a girl of high defree; 
She is still my life companion. 

And her child is on' my knee. 



V 

REMEMBERING— Cont. 15 



But — oh God, why must it be so ! 

When the eventide comes on, 
I can see a far off vision 

Of a daisied country lawn; • 
And, Where falls the waving shadow 

Of the old palmetto tree, 
Stands — a voice comes through my dreaming 

"Papa, papa, here is. me." 



POCAHONTAS 

Buried is the warrior's quiver 
In the forest, by the river; 
Squaw and warrior have departed 
From the shoreland, broken hearted. 
Buried too, Powhatan's dau^ter; 
Over her the mighty water. 
And the depth of years above her. 
Trustful maiden, truest lover. 

Though for ages she is sleeping. 
Earth her memory is keeping. 
In the south ..wind^ softly blowing 
Is her smile, and in the flowing 
Of the brooklet is her laughter; 
While a-through the forest after 
Summer leaves are frosted, dying, 
Goes her soul in ceaseless sighing; 
Sighing for. the. days departed. 



16 " THE PLOUGH BOY 



THE PLOUGH BOY 

He followed the newly made furrow, 
But thought of the coming tomorrow; 
And eagerly sought he to borrow 

Some glimpse 'from his future estate. 
His spirit within him was burning- 
With boyish unsatisfied yearning, 
To fly fpom the soil lie was turning, 

And seek a more lenient fate. 

And there in the midst of his dreaming, 
The spires of the city rose gleaming: 
And lights of the city were beaming, 

And beckoning him all day. 
The heavens far distant descending. 
Their charm of persuasion were lending. 
To lead him to pleasures unending, 

If he Avould but follow away. 

The fallow-field changed in his vision, 
To fountains and gardens elysian; 
And gaily he laughed in derision, 

That he had e'er been a plpugh-boy. 
The city with all its bright glowing. 
Its million feet coming and going, 
Seemed laden with honors o'erflowing. 

And waiting for him to enjoy! 

And these are the spires that ■were' gleaming; 
And these are the lights that were streaming ; 
And these are the thoughts that were teeming 

All day through the busy boy's brain. 
And this is the plow he deserted 
For glor}^, by fancy perverted; 
And this is the picture inverted. 

The mirage that Ije :^ollowed in vain. 

He is now an old m^n bending double; 
On his brow lie the furrows of trouble; 
He has gathered in life but the stubble, 

A^%ere others have garnered the grain. 
The spires that he saw in his dreaming, 
Have lost the bright art of their gleaming; . 
And pleasures, so sweet in their seeming. 

Have left but the traces of pajn. 



THE KING TRIUMPHANT 

THE KING TEIUMPHANT 

A king, though he lay in a manger; 
A prince, though to fortune a stranger. 

The shepherds who sought him afar, 
Were led to the inn where they found him, 
Bv the halo that floated around him 

From Bethlehem's radiant star. 

And Bethlehem's star is still beaming; 

Its rays through the dark night are gleaming; 

Hosanna! let glad voices ring! 
Let highest archangels in glory 
Join mortals in telling the story 

Of Bethlehem's lowly-born king. 

The stall where the wise men assembled, 
The centuries passing, have crumbled 

And sunk in oblivion's gloom. 
The shepherds long, long have been numbered 
With those who for ages have slumbered 

Beneath the gray dust of the tomb. 

But Bethlehem's star is still beaming; 

Its rays through the dark night are gleaming; 

Hosanna! let glad voices ring! 
Let highest archangels in glory 
Join mortals in telling the story 

Of Bethlehem's lowly-born king. 

All 7e, though they tortured and bound him; 
Alive, though in grave clothes they wound him ; 

, Triumphant o'er death and the grave. 
let us fear not the dark shadow 
That reaches from earth's verdant meadow 
E'en down where the dark waters lave. 

For Bethlehem's star is still beaming; 

Ks rays through the dark night are gleaming ; 

Hosanna! let glad voices ring! < 
Let highest archangels in glory 
Join mortals in telling the story 

Of Bethlehem's lowly-born king, 



18 



THE NEW YEAR 



THE NEW YEAK 

A stor3% my children, come hither and hear; 

This is/the first day of the happy New Year 
That came in the stillness and darkness last night 

The moment the Old Year had stole out of sight. 
80 light were his footsteps, so airy his tread, 

That all my dear children tucked snugly in Led, 
Heard never a sound of the things going on. 

Till ''New Year" had come and the Old Year had gone. 

The Old Year has gone and has taken away 

The most of the things that we had yesterday: 
The brooks that we waded, the woods we roamed through; 

The birds and the flowers — he has taken them too. 
But don't look so sober, don't offer tcr cry! 

The year had grown old, so old he must die; 
And now he is buried, and buried also. 

Is all that he bore us of weal or of woe. 

But see what the New Year has brought us instead 

Of all in the Old" Year that's buried and dead : 
Here's meadow and woodland, and silvery sheen 

Of rush-margined brooklet, and grasses as green. 
With flowers as prett}'. and rambles as sweet. 

And dews that axe cooling to little bare feet, 
And birds in the treetops, with songs just as gay 

As any the Old Year has tsQcen away. 

Here's sunshine for shadow, and brilliance for rain: 

And kisses for curses, and pleasu:fe for pain. 
Here's laughing for weeping — ^^so let us be glad. 

And here are the bright eyes instead of the sad. 
And lips that are singing, and hearts that are light, 

And hands that are willing to do wdth their might: 
Kind words and caresses for those we love best, 

And never a cross word for any the rest. 

Here's running for halting; for blindness here's sight; 

Here's courage for weakness; for darkness here's light; 
Here's truth for deception, and honor for shame; 

Here's praying for scoffing; approval for blame; 
Successes for failures; triumphs for defeat; "" 

Affection for hatred; for bitter here's,^weet. 
And here is the conscience to duty awake; 

' And here are the vows we hope never to break. 



THE NEW YEAR-Cont. 19 



And here are the castles of air that we rear. 

Instead of the ruins there in the Old Year; 
Here hopes yet nnshattered and pride yet unstung; 

And heights to be mounted, and fame to be sung. 
So then, after all, who that could desire 

To rake from the embers that glow on the pyre. 
The form of the year that is perished and dead. 

And lose the bright face of ihe New Year instead : 



SAND MEN 

Out upon the ocean strand 

Were two images of sand. 
Fashioned by the waves that toil incessantly; 

And the one is left to stand, 

While a maiden with her hand 
Brushes thoughtlessly the other in the sea. 

As on each the sun did shine. 

So on each was dashed the brine 
As the tide came tumbling in upon the land. 

Was it fate or was it will 

Tjhat but one is standing, still. 
And the gther gone — though both were made of sand ? 

Was it fate or was it will — 

Do you ask ? Then pause until 
Echo answers from the ages of the past. 

Ever sought but never known. 

What the power above their own, 
Shapes the destinies of mortal men at last. 



20 



PSALM OF HOPE 



PSALM OF HOPE 

"It is over, all is ended," 

Sang my heart a-through the day. 
What is over? Nothing's ended 

Till life's harp hath ceased to play. 

What though Fate may wreck the bridges 
Hope hath stretched across the years, 

Or if he life's brightest pages 
Blotted out by bitter tears? 



Hope is yet a goodl;^ builder. 

Spanning once again the main; 
And the tears that fell in sorrow, 

Shall be turned to smiles again. 

What though friends we knew and cherished 
Have departe<^ from our side; 

And if some have sunk and perished 
In the swiftly flowing tide? . 

Can we not still hold communion 

In our thoughts, when all else fail. 

With the ones departed; or is 
Memory of no avail? 

What though youth's connate affections 
Have been blighted long ago; 

And the visions dreamed in gladness. 
Have been realized in woe? 

There are other hearts to love us; 
Other lives to share our pain; 
' And the memory of our losses 

Shtill inspire to strength ^again. 

Silent doors of mausoleums. 

Overgrown with creeping fern, 

Shall roll back when comes the Judgment; 
Eusty hinges creak and turn. 



PSALM OF HOPE—Cont. 



And the sunlight shining inward 

Through the curtains widely drawn, 

Shall awake froni heds of marble, 
Sleepers of the years agone, 

Xothing's lost and nothing's ended 
Till the sail hath left the sea ; 

And the surge of time is blended 
With the vast eternity. 



THE LOST S0N:G 

The crystal ^ sleet upon the trees 
Composed a million diadems: 
And no array of real gems 

Could gleam more brilliantly than these. 

Then fell to earth this jeweled crown 
Beholders had admired the while; 
It fell and formed a rubbish pile. 

And ruthlessly was trodden down. 

There was a song within my breast 

Whose music ever thrilled mv soul; 
And whose sweet cadences would roll 

Xow loud, now soft, but never rest. . 

I sang it^ but the desert air 

Gave no responsive echo back. 
It fell upon the beaten track, 

kvA heedless feet trod on it there. 

And while I heavy hearted stood 

Above the corpse the world had made, 
I did not weep, did not upbraid, 

But wondered if some future would 

Eeturn to me again unbroke. 

The song now dashed upon the ground; 

As archer once his arrow found 
Years after, in the forest oak. 



22 GONE pUT 



tJONE OUT 

^ A knock on the attic door, 

A patter of childish feet: 
"Mamma's gone out/' said the little tot. 
"To find us some bread to eat." 

The landlord turned away. 

Muttering as he went : 
"No money to buy when children cry. 

And none to pay the rent." 

Ou^ in the street alone. 

Gliding from door to door, 
In faltering trust she begs a crust, 

Who never has begged before. 

The doors are all closed on her 

Where festive boards are spread; 

Within they dine on viands 15ne, 
WhUe she is starved for bread. 

,„ The women who see her stand 

And hear her suppliant cry, 
Draw up their gowns with haughty frowns, 
And coldly pass her by. 

And men who'd jest and sneer 

As she came where they were. 

Have daily spent on selfish bent. 
What thrice would comfort her. 

Her heart is so heavy and sick, 
\ Her feet are so" heavy and sore, 

She can but retreat from the friendless street 
To the cheerless garret once more. 

Forsaken and weary and sad, 
\ But free from the world and its lust. 

Yet, some children cry and some mothers die, 
And all for the want of a crust. 



GONE OUT-Cont 



Oh women in silken gowns, 

And men how will you atone ! 

The woman who begs, tho' clad in her rags, 
Has a soul as white as your own ! 

God pity the* dear little babes ; 

And God pay the poor wido^T^s rent. 
Her soul has gone out, with no one about. 

To comfort her or to lament. 



A PRAYER 

I pray not for the perfect day 
Of never changeful skies — 

I see Jehovah in the storm 

When tempest clouds arise. 

I pray not for a tranquil sea, 

Nor fear the darkest night. 
If I can only, through the gloom. 
Discern the beacon light. 

I pine not for the peaceful life. 
For surcease from all woe; 

But I would ask, amid the strife. 
For strength to m^et the foe. 

'Mid all the- snares and ills, that so 
Infest the path of man, 

I only pray for grace to know 
The great Redeemer's plan. 



24 THE THINGS I LOVE THE BEST 



THE THINGS I LOVE THE BEST 

Oh I long to see once more the lines 

Of a quaint old country home; 
And to gaze upon the friendly green 

Of the fields I used to roam. 
Oh to look away from city walls, 

Shutting in like prison pales, 
To the rows of lynns that mark the hounds 

Of the fragrant country vales. 

Oh I long to hear once more the song 

Of the wild birds in the dale; 
And the low of cow^at milking time; 

And the piping of the quail. 
] would list again to the meadow brook, 

As it swirls its pebbles o'er — 
But I hear alway, the ceaseless din 

,0f the city's noise and roar. 

Oh I long to know the sweet 'repose 

Of a moment way out there,- 
Where the skies are blue and airs are pure, 

And God is . everywhere. 
It were worth a life, however long. 

Of the city'^s wild unrest. 
To be once more, just all alone. 

With the things I love the best. 



\ 



THE POTENTIAL 



THE POTENTIAL 

When the sun shines again in Oklahoma- 
For I heard a fellow say 
That he thinks perhaps it may — 
It will be a happy day, 

When the sun shines again in Oklahoma. 

AVe are tired wading mud in Oklahoma; 

We are looking for a plan 

To remove this evil ban; 

We are praying, if it can, 
That the sun shine again in Oklahoma. 

When the sun shines again in Oklahoma — 

As it evidently should, 

As it evidently could 

If it evidently would — 
Won't it seem mighty good— in Oklahoma? 

We would not have Old Sol slight other places ; 

We are not so narrow quite, 

To deprive them of their right; 

But we somehow think he might 
Treat us folks half way white — in Oklahoma. 

When the sun shines again in Oklahoma — 
As a fellow feels it must — 
We'll not swear too much, I trust, 
If this mud shall turn to dust. 

When the sun shines again in Oklahoma. 



26 TIMES WHEN A FELLOW GETS BLUE 

TIMES WHEN A FELLOW GETS BLUE 

In spite of the pleasures 

And perfume of life. 
And in spite of the joys we pursue. 

In spite of the smiling 

And petting of friends. 
There are times when a fellow gets blue. 

You may have "abundance 

Of money and friends; 
You may think you have happiness, too; 

But you will discover — 

Yes, sooner or late. 
There's a time will come when you get blue. 

You will not expect it, 

So silent it creeps, 
Like the forming of midsummer dew; 

But you will awaken, 

Some morning to find 
You are feeling most doggedly blue. 

The poets have pictured 

The beauty of life, 
And have dwelt on its roseate hue; 

But for my own looking, 

I think I have seen 
The whole landscape deep tinted with blue. 

We are yellow with jealousy, 

And purple with rage: 
Green with envy, and white is fear's hue; 

But I'd rather be painted , ^ 

Most any darn, tint, 
Than to be just a little bit blue. 

Oh the days may be sunny. 

And the birds carol free, 
Rut in spite of all that we can do, 

In spite of the roses 

That gladden the way. 
There ate times when a fellow gets blue. 



WRITING UNDER DIFFICULTIES 



WHITING UNDER DIFFICULTIES 

Thus Jack does write 
One summer night; 
Nor can indite 
His letter right. 
Oh sad his plight, 
And fierce his fight 
On bug3 that bite. 
Such piteous sight 
Would subdue quite 
Sage erudite, 
Or Eoman knight 
Of kingly might. ^ 
Jack is a site 
Whereon each mite 
And parasite 
In all his spite 
Exults to light. 
There's no respite 
HoVer so slight, 
That may requite 
Their fiendish rite. 
At morning's light, 
The bugs despite, 
Jack in affright, 
Will take his flight 
Like sylvan sprite. 
Where comes no blight; 
Where at his sight* 
(These words are trite) 
Two eyes grow bright, 
Two lips invite, 
And two arms white 
Clasp round him tight. 
Oh, what delight! 



28 POP CORN 



POP COEN 

Here's to the girl that popped the corn, 
And'liere's to the salt that's in it. 

With right good will I eat my fill, 
And praise her every minute. 

I see her image on each grain 
And I am loathe to chew it; 

But when it slips between mv lips, 
I cannot help but do it. 

And chewing, chewing, as I chewed 
It gave me time to ponder; 

And when one grain did but remain, 
I then began to wonder 

If anything could better be 

To eat on without stopping, 
Or any lass that could surpass 
',This little girl in popping. 

And thus I ate grain after grain; 

The last was disappearing: 
With bitter woe I saw it go, 

And now the thing I'm feaxing, 

Is that I never more shall find 
A girl more kind, or know'er; 

Xor corn more rare, unless, my fair, 
'Twere just a little more. 



PAYING BACK 29 



PAYING BACK 

I stole two kisses from a maid 
When unawares I found her, 

And thought I had her quite subdued 
By force of arms — around her. 

She called me villian, thief and knave. 

In accents so defying. 
That. I confessed my guiltiness. 

And lost no time replying: 

"Sweet maid, I'W give back what 1 stole 
Your rage — I cannot brook it." 

Then I replaced a kiss upon 

Her lips from which I took it. 

And yet she was but half appeased, 

And would have called her mother; 

But quite forgave me all my sin, 
When I gave back the other. 



30 WHERE ARE BAD MEN BURIED 



WHEEE AEE BAD MEN BUKIED? 

Dad, I been down to Freiburg's morgue 

An' seen 'em lay a feller out. 
I guess he was 'killed in a fight, 

Fer people standin' all about 
Said 'at he was ; and wondered why 

In all the fights he had took part, 
He wasn't killed afore — but they all 'lowed 

'At he was mighty good at heart. 

An' I 'was round by Broaidway church 

Where was a funeral, one day; 
So I slipped in an' listened close 

To what the preacher had to say. 
The preacher spoke so nice and kind , 

Till me, an' all the people cried; 
An' I was sorry it could not 

A been some meaner man 'at died. 

An' I went out a purpose then 

Into the graveyard, an', I read 
On every stone to see what kind 

Of folks they was 'fore they was dead. 
An' some was fathers brave an' true. 

Or mothers dear, or daughters fair; 
But every one was good and kind. 

An' not a mean man's grave was there. 

Where are the bad men buried, dad? 

They are not all too mean t© die. 
The world is full of good folk's graves; 

But dad, where do the bad men lie? 



WHO? 81 



WHO? 

Who greets me first in early mom 

When from my hod I rise ? 
Whose lips are wreathed in welcome smiles, 

And gladness in whose eyes? 

Who close heside me ever keeps 
When I walk down the street ? 

Who sits heside me when I rest, 
And thinks my presence sweet? 

Who strives to keep me from all harm ? 

Who grieves when I am sad? 
Whose face lights np with Ijappiness 

Whenever I am glad? , 

Who watches me so lovingly 

When I must go away, 
And speaks with eyes a sad adieu 

That lips cannot convey? 

Who things of me when I am gone 

And ijides in silent pain 
The passing of the weary hours 

Till I shall come again? 

Who greets me when the day is done ; 

J, And when I come home late, 
Who sees me through the twilight gloom. 
And meets me at the gate, 

Eegarding not the passers hy 

ISTor caring what. they say, 
And kisses me for every hour 

That I have been away? 

Whose eyes gaze up into my own 

So full of tenderness? 
And who receives in ecstaey 

My every caress ? 

Who is it that in life or death, 

For honor or for shame. 
Would share my every estate? 

My dog; and Pug's his name. 



32 MIDNIGHT MUSINGS 



MIDNIGHT MUSINGS 

(By the Baby) 

Oh sweet is the beat 

Of parental feet 
As they pace the old oaken floor; 

And pleasing the gleams 

Of the starlight beams 
That peep through the lattice door. 

I was so near dead ^ 

In that horrid bed, 
But nobody seemed to know; 

And nobody cared 

How badly I fared, 
Or whati was the weight of my woe. 

To whimper real good 

Or kick, used to would 
Bring both of my^elders right to ; 

But when these both fail, 

A long lusty wail 
Will answer the purpose in view. 

It may seem a sin 

So soon to begin 
To vex the parental fond soul; 

But when at my age, 

I think they'd engage 
With pleasure in such a night stroll. 

And when I am wed, 

Of them 'twill be said: 
''They have rest; 'tis well that it came." 

iSTow don't tell it out. 

But I haven't a doubt 
They'll walk their grandchildren the same. 



NOBODY KNOWS BUT YOU 38 



NOBODY KNOWS BUT YOU 

Could I but hold your hand in mine 

While dreaming in the moon's alluring light, 
And hear the^voice for which I pine — 

Oh, could I have you near me love, tonight, 
Just for tonight, I should forget 

The griefs that wet my eyes the long day through, 
And breathe^ my love again — and yet, 

Love's pain to me, nobody knows but you. 

Nobody knows but ^ou, love. 

Promise me you'll be true : 
Others know part, but all of my heart, 

Nobody knows but you. 

You said 'twas best that you should go, 

And sibling lips that bade you last adieu 
Lied to the world — the price of woe 

That smile had cost, none ever knew biit you. 
The days have grown to emptiness ; 

The summer skies have lost the olden blue ; 
And- how my heart shall break, unless 

You come again, nobody knows but you. 



34 DIG MY GRAVE BENEATH THE WILLOWS 

DIG MY GRAVE BENEATH THE WILLOWS 

Oh my life is dark and lonely, 

And my sun hatli sunken low, 
Sunken down beneath the lurid western sky. 
But I see a-through the shadows, 

Like a dream of long ago. 
That sweet face I knew in happy days goife by. 

Dig my grave beneath the willows 

By the softly purling stream, 
^N'eath the willows dig my grave and let me lie. 
When the toils of time .are ended 

I will waken from my dream, 
When the stara again are shining in the sky. 

We Jiad quarreled when we parted, 

And I thought she scarcely heard 
When I told her I would speak to her no more. 
But in weary days that followed, 

How I rued the hasty word; 
How I longed to hear again the voice of yore. 

I had said it just to tease her, 

But I kept my proniise fast ' 

Till in lonely hours the months had slowly sped. 

Buds of May had bloomed and faded 
When my ring came back at last 

To bespeak a heart whose love for me was dead. 

Then I wrote a tender letter. 

When my heart was hot with shame, 

And implored her that we might be friends again. 

How I waited for an answer; 
But no message ever came, 

Till I heard that she had wed another man. 

Now she's happy, I am lonely; 

In the years that yet shall come, 
Not a cheering star will glimmer in my sky. 
Not a tender heart to love me, 

Not a place to call my home; 
Ere the shadows gather darker, let me die. 



DIG MY GRAVE BENEATH THE WILLOWS-Cont. 

I^ig my grave beneath the willows 
By the softly purling stream, 

'Neath the willows dig my grave and let me lie. 

When the toils of time are ended 
I will waken from my dream. 

When the stars again are shining in the sky. 

SING ME A SONG OF HOME 

Although the night be dreairy 

After the day so long, 
Although my head grow weary, 

Still I would hear your song. 
Sing me a song of childhood, 

Mother and love and home, 
Home where the heart is turning, 

No matter where we roam. 

Sing it again more softly. 

As you were wont to do ; 
All other voices forgetting, 

Now I would hear but you. 
Beautiful words and tender 

Thrill with a charm divine. 
Sweeter by far, if knowing 

The voice of the singer is thine. 

Sing of the snowy northland. 

Or sunny southern skies, 
But sing of home where lingers 

Welcome that never dies. 
A humble cot or mansion. 

Back to its threshhold wide 
Flies the weary soul for refuge. 

And what is the world beside? 

. CHOEUS 

Sing me a song of home tonight, 
Though it be far away. 

Memory floods with golden light 
Scenes of a happier day. 

Sing it till every wanderer hear, >•' 
Whether on land or foam, • 

Mother and love and all held dear- 
Sing a sweet song of home. 



35 



36 HALLIE FRY 

HALLIE FEY 

t 

Yonder on the old plantation 

Dearest spot of all creation 
Underneath the Valley of Virginia's azure sky, 

There I found you sin^ng 
^ Under branches swinging- 
There I learned that summer day to love you, Hallie Fry. 

CHORUS 

Hallie, Hallie, how 1 love you. 

Won't you like me by and by? 
All the day I dream of you 
Tell uie, will my dream come true? 

All my golden dreams of love and you Hallie Fry. 

When the summer time is ended 

And the forest brown is blended 
\Mth the changing red that reaches clown the autumn sky. 

Then I'll come to woo you 

I'll be iaithful to you, ^ 

I'airest in the Valley of Virginia, Hallie Fry. 



LILY Lin.LABY 

Sleep, pretty lily, far under the snow; 
Fiercely above thee do winter winds blow; 
Icicles burden the boughs hanging low ; 

Grasses that fanned thee are frozen and dead. 
Slumber in darkness awhile, lily white; 
Sleep on in darkness and dream of the light: 
Storms cannot harm thee, and frosts cannot blight; 

Peacefully rest in thy warm earthen bed. 

Snows of December will soon pass away. 
Yielding their place to the blossoms of May: 
Breezes will whisper and birds warble gay, 

Through all the branches that now seem so dead. 
Sleep pretty lily, the skies are o'ercast; 
Deep lies the drift, and rude howls the blast: 
Sleep on and dream till the winter is past; 

Peacefullv rest in thv warm earthen bed. 



/ 



7 



THE WIND'S LULLABY 

THE WIND'S LULLABY 

I stood alone one starless night 

Beneath the fragrant limes, 
While o'er my restless soul there camc^ 

The thoughts of other times. 
The wind sang through the boughs above, 

A mournful, mystic lay; 
My soul caught up the symphony. 

Which ever seemed to say: 

Cease, sad hea;rt, thy repining 

For days that are dead; 
Sigh no more o'er the blossoms 

Whose fragrance has fled. 
•Though the clouds of dejection 

O'ershadow the sky, 
Joy will come with the morrow; 

Hope never can die. 

I thought of all the cherished dreams 

That fate had doomed to die; 
I stood again above the mounds 

Where my beloved lie. 
And longed for tears that would not flow; 

My burning lids were dry. 
And then I heard among the trees. 

This low sweet lullaby: « 

Cease, sad heart, thy repining 

For days that are dead; 
Sigh no more o'er the blossom ^; 

Whose fragrance has fled. 
Though the clouds of dejection ^ 

O'ershadow the sky, 
Joy will come with the morrow; 

Hope never can die. 



38 MISSOURI 



MISSOURI 

I have heard of sunny southlands; 

I have heard of northland's snow; 
But I know a middle region, 

Where sweet-scented zyphers blow; 
Where, unscorched by tropic splendor, 

Never stung by arctic's chill, ■ 

Stretches many a lillied valley, 

Hard by many a daisied hill. 

< 

Oh the "Green Fields of Virginia," 

And "My Old Kentucky Home," 
I have heard the wand'rers singing 

On the land and on the foam; 
But I have in memory's keeping 

Visions of a land more fair, 
With its fields both green and 'golden, 

Touched with sunlight everywhere; 

And a home — oh how I love it! 

On the sunlit slope it stands; 
While my mother in the doorway. 

And a boy are clasping hands; 
And I see the matchless splendor. 

As I saw in days of old, 
When the autumn sun at setting, 

Tinged the browning woods with gold. 

Sing ye then your songs of country — 

Of Missouri mine shall be; 
And the memory cherished ever. 

That her soil gave birth to me. 
So when life's glad day is over. 

And the darkness comes, oh then 
May I fall into her bosom. 

As a child, to sleep again. 



ADNEXA 



39 

/ 



ADNEXA 

The world is wide — but oh ! how wide, 
None know so well as they 

Who on its farther shores abide, 
With no returning way. 

The. sea is deep — but never man 
Has feared its caverns dim. 

Nor known how dark its waters ran. 
Until it yawned for him. 

The sky is blue — yet all, I trow. 

On some supernal day, 
In new found joy seemed not to know 

It hajd been so alway. 

And life is sweet — but oh ! how sweet, 

Not one perhaps can say, 
Until its sands' beneath the feet 

Begin to slip away. 

The sorrow that another feels 
Portends for us no doom; 

But hearts grow sick and reason reels 
When -our path threads the gloom. 



V 



40 FINEM 



FINEM 

■ And so, at last, I'm dead. 
The few short years that marked 

my Tiselessness are fled. 
The little joy and all the vain regret 
Of that brief life, I now forget. ^ 

I now forget — forget. 

But yesterday, with worldly 

griefs my eyes were wet. 
The blighted Jiopes, the ills that cursed my lot 
And broke my heart, today are not. 

Forgetfulness — the end 

Of failures and mistakes that 

time could" never mend; 
Qf broken vows, and aims misunderstood; 
Oblivion for all — how good. 

-^And there are those will say: ,, * 

"'Tis better thus that 'he 
has early passed away. 
Since life to him was but an ill bequest, 
Who lived unloved, and died unblest." 

A few, perchance, will weep 
To know theSe eyes have closed 

in their eternal sleep; 
For this still heart, to whom it best was known. 
Seemed more, ah, more of flesh than stone. 

But now since I am dead, /^ 

What matters it if words of 

praise or blame be said? 
The little joy and all the vain regret 
Of that brief life, I now forget. 



- THE WORLD 41 



THE WOELD 



A baid cold world, 

A sad cold world, ^ 

So full of grief ai^d care; 
Whose lashing waves 
And dashing waves 

Beat 'round us everywhere. 

If clear the day 
Or drear the day, 

Some memory returns 
Of trying hours ' 
Ai;id dying hours 

Where fate's sad incense burns. 

If aches our heart 
Or breaks our heart, 

The world hears not a moan. 
The needing heart 
An^ bleeding heart 

Must ache and break alone. 



UNREST 

I want to do, I know not what; 

I want to go, I know not where. 
If I could find some mystic spot 

Apart from earth, and sea, and air, 
My soul could rest. 

I dream there is a magic bourne 

Beyond which eomes no sordid ca:re; 
Where mortal hearts forget to mourn — 
Some fairy land, I ween, and there 
^ My soul could rest. 

Would evely earthly tie were rent 
By fortune's rude iconoclast, 

If I could lose my discontent — 
If I could be assured at last 
My soul could rest. 



42 FOR SOMEBODY 

) 

FOE SOMEBODY 

How long are the days sometimes, 

And the skies o'erhead, how black; 

And the clouds about my way * 

Will never, it seems, roll back. 

How weary my feet do grow; 

How heavy my heart with care. 
The world is full of its joy, 

But never a crumb to spare. 

My efforts seem all in vain; 

My tears are of no avail: 
My happiest hopes in life, 

Seem worthy of naught but fail. 

Many and many a time. 

My heart bowed down with its grief, 
I've stood by the river death 

And longed for its quick relief. 

Have wished that I might but sink 

Its measureless tide below, 
And thus in forgetfulness. 

Be free from my weight of woe. 

But somebody knows my grief. 

And somebody hears my call; 
And somebody's hand is out 

To succor me when I fall. 

And somebody's heart beats high 

Whenever my heart is light; 
And somebody prays for me 

To keep me from sorrow's blight. 

And somebody finds a way 

, My slightest want to supply; 
And constantly cheers my soul 
As the weary days go by. 



FOR SOMEBODY-Cotit. 



\ 



And somebody claims my life, 

So why should I wish to die ? 

For is not the day's bright sun 

Behind the clouds in the sky?* 

And does not the blessing come 

yFrom out the chastening hand, 
Just as the threatening clouds 

Enliven the sun-parched land? 

For somebody, then, I'll live; 

For somebody, God, and right; 
And life shall be one bright day; 

And death but the welcome night. 



I saw an ax, witJi careless swing, 
A tree's young fibre cleave apart. 

' A thoughtless word, with cruel sting 
-^ Pierced like a shaft a friendly heart. 

The tree had drooped and almost died, 
But Nature served the cut to mend. 

Physician Time his balm applied, 
And friend again spake as to friend. 

Although no trace the bark revealed. 
Long afterward the scar I found; 

And in the heart I thought was healed, 
The jrears had left the cruel wound. 



44 OCTOBER MUSINGS 



OCTOBER MUSINGS 

October's leaves are dying, 
October's tlouds are flying, 
And the wind is sadly sighing 

Through the vale. 
The fields of maize are browning. 
The summer's labor crowning; 
From the hillside darkly frowning, 

Pipes the quail. 

I am sitting sadly thinking, 

At the fount of sorrow drinking, 

And the sun is slowly sinking 

In the west. 
While the shades of night are falling, 
Distant voices to me calling, 
Comes one shadow more appalling 

Than the rest. 

Steals upon me while I wonder, 
While I sit and sadly ponder 
On the dead days over yonder 

In the past; 
Where the hopes that once were flattered 
Now are lying rudely shattered. 
As the leaves around me scattered 

By the blast. 

October's sun at setting 

On the wild Pacific's fretting! • 

1 might ever be forgetting 

My distress, 
But the sad wind ceasing never, 
And the dead leaves, falling ever. 
All unite in one endeavor 

To impress , 

On my mind the iJbherished places 
That the pen of memory traces, 
Vanishfed forms and vanished faces 

That I love. • 
But I never more shall meet them. 
Nor in sorrow may entreat them. 
Nor in svmpathy can greet them. 

Till above.' 



FOR THIS TIME AND FOREVER 45 

FOE THIS TIME AND FOREVER 

"Goodby for this time" at the closing 

Of a brief and hasty note, ' 
And "the same Kate" added after. 

Deeply underscored, you wrote. 

Just '^for this time," thus you wrote it. 

And I did not realize 
That "for this time" meant forever, 

And "the same" meant otherwise. 

But I felt a strange sensation, 

Half of fear and half regret. 
And a silent, sad forboding 

That I could not well forget. 

For a something seemed to tell me 

That you were not quite the sanie;» * 

Could it be the underscoring 
Under that familiar name 

Was a silent tongue of warning 

That your heart was turned away; \ 

That you were not quite the same Kate ; 
That your "this- time" meant for aye':' 

No! such thoughts were far too horrid: 

So I spurned them from my mind 
And I still believed you loyal, 

Truest of all womankind. 

But my letter brought no answer. 

Long I waited in my, pain 
For the picture you had promised: 

But my waiting was in vain. 

Your "for this time"^ meant forever; 

For the years hg(ve proved it so; 
And "the same Kate" meant a changed Kate — 

Then I fea;red it: now I know. 



46 WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN 



WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN 

Soon the closing- of the day 

Will come for me; 
And beyond the hills of gray, 

Mine eyes shall se» 
The sun go down. 

So will trying noon-day heat . 

Not matter then — 
When I rest my weary feet 

At even' — when 

The sun goes down. 

May the vesper bells intone 

Subdued and low, 
When my spirit, all alone, 

Is called to go 

Far out the west. 

As the shadow and the gloam 

Begin to fall, 
I shall listen then from home 
, To hear the call 

To come to rest. 

Touch but thou my throbbing brow. 

And bid it still; 
Hold my hand a little now, 

And kiss me, tUl 

The sun goes down. 



(To a friend speaking for a prize) 

Be not 'discouraged 

Though the prize you should miss. 
Life hath endeavors 

Far greater than this. 
The scenes of our failures. 

The thoughts of our pain, 
Will often inspire us 

To labor affain. 



SOUL WATCHES 47 

SOUL WATCHE^ 

It is evening: and the crimson 

From the west is slowly dying: 
It is evening; and the swallows 

To the eaves are swiftly flying : 
It is evening; shifting shadows 
. Thieic athwart my path are lying. 

Plod my feet their weary way; 
Lord forgive a misspent day. 

It is midnight, by the finger - 

On the dial Time is sweeping : 
It is midnight; starry sentries 

Are the silent watches, keeping: 
It is midnight; through the silence 

Come the phantom, shadows creeping. 

What if death should come this way? 
Hush, my soul ! be still, and pray. 

It is morning! o'er the hilltops 

Of the east the light is breaking: 
It is morning! field and forest 

Are in matin songs awaking: 
It is morning! countless millions 

Of my rapture are partaking. 

Shout, my soul, in joyful lay! 
There is yet time to repay. 



If we wisdom had to look upon 

And read the future's mystic scroll. 
How many a path we had not gone ; 

How much less grief had reached the 
But as we tread this vale of tears, 

We cannot tell where danger hides ; 
And, like a child of tender years. 

Are only safe when some one guides. 



48 IN THE TWILIGHT 



IN THE TWILIGHT 

While the curtains of night are dra,wing about 

The form of the vanishing day. 
My gaze through the window is straying far out : 

But my th0)Ughts are farther away. 

How bright are the beams that the sun sinking lo\ 

Throws over my windows of gray; 
But the rays of thy love that are setting aglow 

My soul, are far brighter than they. 

And if I could know that the sun 'round his bed 

Had drawn the last curtains of gold, 
And the east ne'er again with his rising be red. 

What joy could the 'morrow morn hold ? 

But if I should find, and should know in my soul 

That thy love for me is not true, 
How black and how barren their cycles would roll, 

Not time, but eternity too. 

So I watch the last light that far in the west 

Grows fainter till finally gone; 
And I love the calm hour when the day sinks to rest. 

Though another day never should dawn. 

And thus in my heart the mellifluent glow 

Of a love that is constant today. 
Makes precious each moment the present may know, 

Tomorrow, let bring what it may. 



STILL DA Y IN SUMMER 49 



STILL DAY IN SUMMER 

It is so still; no sound disturbs 

The solemn quietude. 
Full motionless is every leaf 

That clothes the sombre wood. 
I startle from my reverie; 

The silence seems to fill 
My soul with sudden loneliness, 

It is so still. 

It is so still; no feathered voice 

From out the leafy tree ; 
No hum of bee nor sigh of breeze 

To keep me company. 
The clouds hang dreamily above 

The gray recumbent hill; 
I scarce can tell which way they move, 

It is so still. 

It is so still; it seems like death. 

This peaceful solitude; 
And I would be irreverent 

To let my voice intrude 
Where things of God their silence keep. 

I seem to feel the thrill . 
Of Deity within my soul — 

It is so still. 



50 / SHALL NEVER BE FORSAKEN 



I SHALL NEVER BE FOESAKEN 

1 shall never be forsaken. 

Though new griefs each day awaken 

In my breast, 
1 still look for some tomorrow 
That shall bring, instead of sorrow. 

Peace and rest. 

I shall never be forsaken. 

Now I grasp with faith unshaken, 

The command: 
"Where I lead, fear not to follow; 
I will keep thee in the hollow 

Of my hand.^' 

1 shall never be forsaken; 
And my heart is not mistaken 

When I read: * 

"Through the valley of the shadowy' 
To the green and peaceful meadow, 

I will lead.'' 

I shall never be forsaken, 

For my Lord my hand has taken 

In his own. 
He will lead me safely, ever. 
O'er the mountain and the river. 

To my home. 



FOR HIM ' 51 

FOE HIM 

We made for him, ere he was born, 

The dainty garments he should wear; 

And when, in time, he had them on, 
No kingly babe was e^er so fair. 

For him, a couch of softest down 

Within a gilded crib we spread; 
And angels envied us of him 
^ A cooing in his cozy bed. 

We made for him-^— how sweet the task — 

Tops and toys for a boy's delight; 
And candle pictures, shadow things, 

Upon the study wall at night. 

We made for him. what wondrous plans 
That future years in power and fame 

Should make Kim rich, until the world 

On tongues of praise should bear his name. 

We made for him, what sacrifice! 

To lead in pleasant paths his feet; 
' Oft' drained our lips the bitter cup, 

That his might only taste the sweet. 

And when we had done all for him, 

Had made all else but naught, if he 

To worldly glory might attain ; 

And while he lay there silently, 

The neighbors came and made for him 

(Heaven thus removed what Heaven gave) 

What we who loved him could not make, 
Nor counted how to make — a grave. 

Then made for him, the minister, 

While kneeling in the churchyard there, 

What we, who loved him first aiid best, 
Had liever thought to maJ?e-^^^ prayer. 



52 HER LONG HOME 



HEK LONG HOME 

In a casket plain, from a house of shame 

They bore her silently away, 
With the marks of sin on the pale young face 

That had been beautiful one day. 
And the so-called friends that her sin had made 

In thoughtless, other days gone by. 
When they asked for her at the house that day, 

Were met by only this reply: 

She's gone to her home, far, far away ; 

She's gone to her home in the country. 
She's gone to her home, her long, long home; 

To her home in the country churchyard. 

In a quiet spot where the oakwood shade 

O'erlies the churchyard's ancitent mould, 
Is a narrow grave: and a vacant chair , 

Is by the hearthstone quaint and old. 
But the mother's heart is more restful now,' 

(Heaven answered thus her anxious prayer) 
For the wayward daughter is home at last. 

Home in the churchyard bver there. 

She's gone to her home, to be for aye ; 

She's gone -to her home in the country. 
She's gone to her home, her long, long home. 

To her home in the country churchyard. 



A DREAM 53 



A DEEAM 

It was a dream, I know ^twas but a 

dream lost with the night; 
And yet so real its vividness, 

I cannot quite forget. 
I had not heard from you, 

nay, scarcely thought of you for years: 
But last night you came back from 

the long dead past, your eyes wet 
With tears — I know not if in 

grief or Joy they had their source — 
But filled with that same lovelight 

strange and deep which, long ago, 
Afraid to test its power, I almost 

shrank from. But last night 
You put your arms around my neck, 

and kissed me an^ spoke low 
My name; and I in turn embraced 

you close, and bending down 
My face unto your lips all 

quivering, I so kissed you. 
And called you Kate, my Kate 

at last, and kissed you yet again — 
Which in the years we had been- ' 

friends, I had not sought to do. 
Your face though pale and deeply 

furrowed with the lines of care 
And passing years, bore yet the 

same sweet grace and comeliness 
Of girlhood ; and I thought you 

were forever mine — when lo 
Y'o\i went away and in my 

arms I held but emptiness 
Where you had been. Then in 

niy grief I cried aloud, and called 
Into the dark for you 

until my cries did waken me. 
And now, awake, I look across 

the years where you have gone. 
To wonder if you will 

come back — biit in reality. 



IV/ 



54 tV/IA T MA TTER 



WHAT MATTEE 

I would not be of those who feel 

They but ignobly "die, 
Unless assured their forms will rest 

Beneath their native sky. 

What matters it where lie these bones 
When life from them has flown? 

It may be in a stranger land ; 
It may be in my own: 

They'll reck not, in the wrack of time 
, What clouds are in the sky; 

j^^or passing people, but a day, 
Eemember where they lie. 

Or whether friend or whether foe 
Above my grave shall tread; 

Or flowers bloom, or briers grow — 
'Tis naught when I am dead. 

What need have I of granite shaft 
To gleam above my tomb — 

For it can never send a beam 
Into the coffin's gloom: 

Or scroll of deeds upon a stone 

To mark my burial spot ? 
The good are treasured up somewhere; 

The bad I want forgot. ' 



A/y SONG 



MY SONG 

I must sing on; 

I can not stay: 
, This feeble hand of mine some day 
Will falter and fall down, 

Its labor done, 

But not complete. 

Still on will move the busy feet, 
When mine have ceased to run. 

The pulseless clay 

Enclose this form ; 

The damp, the canker, and the worm, 
Exclude the light of day. 

And place and name 

Shall be forgot, 

That marked one atom from the lot, 
Nor singled it for fame. 

To-morrow's dawn 

May hear no lay 

Of all the songs I sing to-day; 
And yet, I must sing on. * 

A voice hear I » 

From out the skies, 

And all the soul that in me lies, 
Must answer to its cry. 



56 PHANTOMS 



PHANTOMS 

My childish eyes were opened wide 

In wonder to behold. 
For there, outlined aoainst the dark, 

I saw a giant bold. 
So vast and grim his form reached up, 

It almost touched the sky. 
For fear, I dared not look at him ; 

For fear, I dared not fly, 

A massive helmet on his head, 

And armor to his knees ; 
I thought I heard his hissing, breath— 

Perhaps it was the breeze. 

A coat of mail, and shield he wore ; 

And boots of monstrous size: 
His helmet plume was lilce a cloud, 

And stars were for his, eyes. 

He seemed to walk vipon the air 
With grim and awful stride; 

And on the tops of distant trees 
His feet were planted wide. 

One hand outstretched to grasp the foe. 
The other clutched his sword; 

And though his form swayed angrily. 
He uttered not a word. 

Ten times I saw him draw to strike, 

Yet not a jblow did fall ; 
It was for what he would have done, 

I feared him most of all. 

The morning came, my eyes in awe, 

Were opened wide to see 
The giant grim ; instead, I saw 

A spreading friendly tree. 

But ever when the twilight fell, 

■.A. waited for the dark 
And watched the swaying shadows that 
T^he giant's form would mark. 



PHANTOMS- Cont. 



It mattered not the sceptre gray 
Was friend at morning light. 
'And, though I winked at him by day. 
I feared him still at night. 

And so, our blessings often look 
Like ghosts in bold relief, 

Because we view them through the night 
Of doubt and disbelief. 



A TALE THAT IS TOLD 

How brief is our beiag! 

The most life can hold 
Of sadness or sweetness, 
Is like in its flejetness, 

^'A tale that is told." 

A birth, a beginning; 

A scramble for gold : 
The bud that we cherish. 
Blooms only to perish — 

"A tale that is told." 

A stroke of the reaper; 

A form that is cold: 
From matins of gladness. 
To vespers of sadness; 

''A tale that is told." 
» 
Then back to earth's bosom. 

Encased in the mould: 
From birth unto dying, 
A shuttle's swift flying; 

"A tale that is told." 



58 THE LAND OF "IS TO BE' 

THE LAND OF 'IS TO BE" 

Just before the twilight falls, 

Just before the day is dead. 
While the homing robin calls, 

While the evening sky is red, 

I am sitting all alone, 

All alone — how oft before 
I have sat alone at evening, 

Thinking on the days of yore. 

But to-night my thoughts are not 

Dwelling on the days agone, 
But alone, I sit and muse 

Of the prospects farther on. 

There are voices in the past 

That I may not hear again; 
There are hands I may not clasp. 

Eyes that have grown dim since then. 

For the memory of these 

I have often drawn a sigh; 
But I smile to-night — and think. 

Of that land of "^y and By." 

There the sky is ever bright 

With the breaking of the day; 
Flowers bloom — but not to fade. 

And dear ones go not away. 

As the landscape swift recedes, 

So, behind lies memory; 
But fond hope is like the stream 

Bushing onward to the sea. 

Nevermore shall "what has been" ^ - 

Claim nor smile, nor sigh from me; 

Let me live, and live alway. 
In the land of '1& to be." 



THE DANDELIONS 



59 



THE DANDELIONS 

I looked on a field of flowers 

(They are called the dandelion) 

And I saw the heads all golden 
Among the gray heads shine. 

Then I thought how all those gray heads- 

That I looked upon that day. 
Were young and fresh and golden, 
^ Perhaps but yesterday. 

And /I thought again, with sorrow. 

How every golden head 
Would wear the gray to-morrow, 

And wither, and be dead. 

And gazing while the sunbeams 

On both in splendor lay, 
I knew not which was fairer. 

The golden or the gray. 

Another glint of sunshine, 

Another breeze at play, 
The golden heads were gray grown; 

The gray were blown 'away. 

I behold a throng of beings 

(But creatures of a day) 
And there, among the golden, 

I see the heads of gray. 

If these or those be fairer. 

It is not mine to say; 
For gray and gold must have a part 

To make lifers perfect day. 

Another peal of laughter, , 

Another sigh of gloom. 
The golden heads are silvered; 

The gray are in the tomb. 



60 THE WORDS UNSAlD 

THE WORDS UNSAID 

What would I give, oh love of mine, 

Could I recall the fleeting sands 
That ran unheeded through the glass 

Till I beheld the folded hands 
And pallid brow, ar^d knew that you 

Had gone for aye, and I 'must live 
And walk alone — oh, for one hour 

Of that lost time, what would I give ! 

What would I give could I but speak 

To listening ears and not to air; 
And hear — ^but ah, no answer comes _ 

From out the low mound over there. 
You were so true, and loved me so. 

And I — God pitfy me today- 
Have come to know there are no words 

That burn like those we may not say. 

What would I give — not to recall 

One angry look or cruel word, 
For in the years we walked beside, 

No unkind thing your ears had heard : 
Not to unsay what has been said; 

Not to unsay, but rather live 
With time to say the tender things 

I should have said — what would I give! 



It is the work of years to know 

Whom we may trust, and yet — 

And yet, it only takes, I trow, 
A moment to forget. 

Oh heart, the fate which thou hast met 

Is but the common lot. 
Thou hast been loved, perhaps, and yet- 

And yet, thou art forgot. 



ECHOES HI 

ECHOES 

Ah, my dear little girl, in the 

years th^t shall come, 
May the suitors who proffer their love. 

Be ever more true 

Than I've been to you. 
Ay, true as the stars be above. 

And whether of pleasure or 

whether of pain 
Be the fruits that are garnered to you, 
. The lesson to learn, 
• That I have not learned, 

Is: be true; and forever, be true. 

The love I have known in the 

days that are dead 
(I cannot tell why it is so) 

Hath written the scroll 

Of heart and of soul, 
.With far less of joy than of woe. 

The songs that I sing and the 

music I hear, 
Are but echoes, sad echoes to me. 

That serve to remind. 

Or cruel or kind. 
Of youth, and of love, and of — thee. 

I do not see why that I 

cannot forget; 
And I cannot tell why it should be 

That all of this pain 

Of heart and of brain, 
By love should be brought upon me. 

And why in my heart there keep 

welling up 
(Are other hearts ever the same?) 

Things that my pride 

How gladly would hide; 
Emotions I dare not proclaim. 



•52 HER EYES 



HER EYES 

I look into her eyes 

And they are blue — 
Blue as the summer skies 

My youth-time knew 
And all the golden dreams 

I cherished then 
Within her eyes' bright gleams 

I see again. 

I look into her eyes 

And they are deep — 
Deep as the tranquil seas 

That flowing, sleep 
Within those depths. cans't tell 

What treasures are 
What coral caves or shell 

From /'chanted bar ? 

I look into her eyes 

And they are bright — 
Bright as are Heaven's stars 

In azure night. 
Though sun and stars should fly 

From out the skies 
My world is bright if I 

Have but her eyes. 

I look into her eyes 

And they are soft — 
Soft as the matin sun 

On mountain croft, 
Or as in sheltered eaves 

The snowflakes fall. 
Or zephyrs fan tlje leaves 

O'er garden wall. 

I look into her eyes 

And they are true — 
True as the hills of God 

That top the view; 



HER EYES-Cont. ^ 63 

And in their light steadfast 

As seems to me 
I catch the gleam of vast 

Eternity. 

I look into her eyes 

And they are all — 
All that my soul has sought 5^ 
And if you call 
It madness, then you may 
. Or what you will 
I will be mad to-day 

Though madness kill. 



' A LIFE 

I saw a youth in early morn 

Scaling a mountain side. 
His curling hair of sunlight born, ^ 

His blue eyes lit with pride. 

I saw him when the sun was high 
The topmost ledge to climb: 

He looked about with eager eye, 
But took no note of time. 

I looked again at set of sun; 

The snow was in his hair: 
The starlight from his eyes was gone; 

His face was marked with care. 

kxA then I saw by moonlight glow, 

The grasses gently wave, 
ThM by the breezes to and fro 

Were blown across his" grave, 



64 THOUGHTS ENTRAIN 



THOUGHTS ENTRAIN 

With the wings of the wind 

We are speeding 
O'er the bosom of great Illinois ; 
And the miles that behind 

Are receding. 
Lie between us and our yester-joy. 

But the scenes that are fast 

Disappearing 
In the vista of things that are gone, 
Are forgotten at last 

By the nearing 
Of the prospects more bright farther on. 

Oh my soul ! wilt thou sigh 

For the fountains 
That are playing in vales of repose, 
All unmindful that high 

On the mountains 
Bursts the rarest of blooms Nature knows? 

Though the way should be rough 

In its leading, 
Though the memories we keep be so .blest ; 
It were sin base enough 

If unheeding 
Duty's voice, we should not do our best. 



THOSE DAYS 65 



THOSE DAYS 

Those days are gone ; the purple light 
That hung about their close before 

They sank forever into night, 

Has turned to dark, and glows no more. 

We saw the last one slowly sink, 

An(J to its end more brightly burn; 

We could not know — why should we think 
It was the last, nor would return? 

How oft the twilights cold and grav 

Have held since then the western sky; 

And through how many an erst-glad day ^ 
The leaden mists are driving by. 

You knew not, and I knew not then 

Our raptured bliss; but so, *tis said, 

We only know an angel when 

For parting flight his wings are spread. 

Those days are gone, and with them went — 
I have no name to call it by — 

That subtle mystery which lent 

' A brighter tint to earth and sky. 

And brought a something sweet into 

Those sober lives of yours and mine; 

Now touching them with gayer hue, 
Now mellowing with peace divine. 

Ah, it was more than sun or sky,^ 

Or drifting cloud, or driving rain, 

That made those days for you and I, 
Momentus in their joy or pain. 

Though we may gaze on bluer skies, 

Or drink the -sweets of fresher flowers, 

And think we read in others' eyes 

The light of days that once were ours; 

Those, days are gone; and days that rise, 
How'er so full or bright or fair, 

Are not the same; for something lies 
Buried with those days over there. 



66 LIKE HER 

LIKE HER 

Far from the .city's maddening crowd, » 

Far by a shaded lane, 
Tlie grass falls brown with autumn frosts, 

In spring leaps green again. 

There lies a lonely plot of ground 

Where only mourners go; 
And all pass in and all file out 

With measured steps and slow. 

And some pass through the narroM' gate 

Whom other hands sustain, 
Who from the quiet of that place 

Come never out again, 

But there abide an endless time 

'Neath roofs nor wide, nor high, 
Where never sounds a voice of mirth. 

i^or ever wakes a sigh. 

Along the rows of nai'row homes 

Is not one open door ; 
And no one knows who follows him 

Or who has, gone before. 

The ancient oaks their shadows throw 

At noon or even-fall 
Now north, now east, until the night 

Casts darkness over all. 

And sliQ sleeps there I ha,ve been told, 
• She whom I never knew. 

Now winter's snows are on the mound, 
And now the summer's dew. 

And she sleeps there. The long, long years 

Have brought drear miles between 
My feet and that far, lonely spot 

That I have never seen. 



LfKE HER—Cont. 



Oh ! have the years been more unkind 
To rae than I have known, 

That I am not as Others are 
But dwell apart, alone? 

I never knew her, she who sleeps 

In that lone spot today, 
Yet I recall when but a child, 

That I have heard them say 

That I was like her, her alone. 

And through the cruel years 
How I have missed her more and more, 

Have longed for her through tears- 

My mother. Yes, 'tis she who sleeps 
The unknown years away 

Within that house of sodded roof 
And 2iarrow walls of clay. 

And though it is a lonely spot 

Tliat I have never seen, 
More often robed in winter's gray 

Than clothed in suminer's^ green. 

Since I am /lA-e her, when within 
The narrow gate I've passed, 

Grant me but there to lay me down 
And be wiilx her at last. 



68 THE QUEST 

THE QUEST 

My room is dark tonight, 

And cold against the pane 
The gusty wind without, 

Drives up the wintry rain. 

My heart is dark tonight, 

And ever round about, 
Its fastnesses are smote 

By hordes of fear and doubt. 

I want you, dear, tonight, 
I, who am so alone. 
^ My heart cries out and breaks — 

0! oome to me, my o\vn! 

Oh, come across the years; 

Oh, answer to my call. 
Fade fame, fly wealth, fail friends, 

But you are more than all. 

I wait for you, dear one. 

Nor knowing where you are; 
Or if you dwell in neighbor lanes, 

Or come from lands afar. 

But come to me, my love, 

From out that vague somewhere; 

For though not seen or heard, 
I know that you are there. 

I know because my heart 

Has cried out for its own, 
A face as yet unseen, , 

But love shall make it known. 



ADDIE BROWN ^ ^.^ 



ADDIE BROWN 

Oh, its been many a day 

Addie Brown, 
Since I passed you on the way 

Into town. 

Then I knew 

Not 'twas you 
But within your eyes of blue 

x\s we met, 
I saw the light that, just as true. 

Lingers yet. 

Ah, its many and many a mile 

Addie Brown, 
I have wandered oftenwhile^ 

From the town. 

Shade and shine 

Have been mine. 
But the blue is ne'er sp bright 

In the skies 
That I can forget the light 

Of your eyes. 

Oh, the friend that you have been, 

Addie Brown, 
Makes my heart stand still within 

As I drown 

With my tears 

Those dark years 
When I turned away fyom you 

Proud and cold. 
But returning, found you true 

As of old. 

And another day there'll be 

Addie Brown, 
That will find or you, or me, 

Looking down 

On a face 
^, In death's embrace; 
And the grave will close between 

Friend and friend. 
And all tliat friendship e'er could mean 

Have an end. 



70 TRUANTS 

TRUANTS 

• ■ 

Oh where are the apple blossoms of white, 

That the spreading old apple tree 
Gave gaily in play to the wind that day, 

Just to scatter on you and me? 

It wai5 early spring, and the day was glad — 

How glad it was, maybe you know; 
Though the blossoms rare and the scented air. 

May not wholly have made it so. 

And where are the rustling maples that laughed 

As they leaned o'er the dusty lane 
Where we slowly drove by, and seemed to sigh 

When we had turned homeward again? 

'Twas a summer night, and the moon sailed by 

In a chariot cloud of gray; 
The words of the breeze )vere sweet in the trees, 

Although we could find none to say.' 

Oh where are the nuts from the autumn wood, 

On the carpet of leaves we piled; 
And the log fire bold, in the fireplace old. 

When the wintery night ^as wild? 

And where are the shells we sought on the sand, 

One day by the silvery sea, 
'Mid the breaker's roar, that broke on the shore, 

With their foam crawling stealthily? 

Oh where, and oh where — but why should I ask; 

For why better it might not be, 
Alas, and alack, to take a look back. 



And to ask ourselves, where are we 



I haven't a doubt the old apple tree^ 

With blossoms in spring is white still: 

And gives them away to breezes of May, 
To scatter far over the hill. 



TRUANTS— Cant, 



The dusty old lane is still leading down 
By the ford where the sycamore stood : 

And butternuts brown are yet coming down 
Out there in the frost-bitten wood. 

In the old fireplace burn bright as of yore, 
Good logs from the hickory tree; 

The old wicker chair, and kettle are there 
In their ^places, but where are we? 

The winds are not gone from the trees of spring. 
Nor the moon from the summer sky; 

And the gulls still soar- where the breakers roar. 
And the ocean does not run dry. 

The memories diear that our hearts have held ; 
All the loves of a by-gone day; 

Have ever kept true, all the long years through- 
It is we who are gone awat. 



AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON 

The wind is sighing through the grate 
Mournfully, mournfully. 
Like a soul in durance vile. 
The crow is calling to his mate 
Scornfully, scornfully. 
Clouds are darkening the while. 

Wellnigh bereft of leaves, the Itoughs 
Hazilj, hazily. 
Sway against the leaden sky. 
From out the meadow field the cows 
Lazily, lazily. 
To their stalls go filing by. 

The teams come plodding down the lane 
Wearily, wearily. 
With their loads of yellow corn. 
Begins to fall the autumn rain 
Drearily, drearily, 
Now descends the night forlorn. 



THE ONE APART 



THE O^E APART 

The bird tjiat wanders from its nest 

To die^j 
Ffir from the scenes it loves the best, , 
Fares not in ways of more unrest 

Than I, 

Who wander up and down the earth 

Alone, 
And lonely 'mid the hollow mirth, 
And 'mid the scenes that gave me birth. 

Unknown : 

Unanswered, though I call afar 

My way. 
Although I walk where others are. 
Seems guided by another star 

Than they. 

But dreaming that some other land ^, 

Somewhere, 
Shall answer to my soul's demand, 
And someone take me by the han^. 

And care. 

Oh, wind and wave and restless sea, 

Say thou 
If yet somewhere our souls shall be 
More satisfied in sympathy, 

I'lian now. 



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